


The Morning After

by Ragazza_Guasto



Series: Danger Night [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bisexual John, Blow Jobs, Fluff, Frottage, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Misunderstandings, POV John Watson, Semi-Virgin Sherlock, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-06-14
Packaged: 2018-02-04 15:24:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1783900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ragazza_Guasto/pseuds/Ragazza_Guasto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John wakes up on the floor of the living room, arm glued to Sherlock's stomach and a God awful taste in his mouth.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Morning After

**Author's Note:**

> A Danger Night was supposed to be a one shot but I do what I want. :p

"Sherlock," John mumbled, "wake up. We've been kidnapped again." He hadn't dared open his eyes yet, but that was the only explanation, once he awoke and took stock of his situation. Head injury, lying uncomfortably on a hard surface, he and Sherlock tied together. He could hear his flatmate's shallow breaths near his ear, so he knew he was unconscious. He tried again. "Sherlock, wake up. C'mon," he whispered, the sound of his voice still like a jackhammer to his own ear. They must have hit him hard. "We've got to escape before they come back."

"Whzzz, huh?" Sherlock mumbled and stretched. 

Oh, it turned out they weren't tied together, per se. He was just stuck to Sherlock's skin. The man scratched at his bare stomach, near where John's arm lay, and yawned.

"Go back to sleep, John. We're perfectly sound." Sherlock then turned, threw a leg over John and snuggled closer; John came unstuck from his waist as he turned. 

The night before hit him like a freight train. _That's semen, Watson. Your semen. You tossed off on your flatmate last night._

"Oh, Christ!" He spit out the curl of Sherlock's hair that had worked it's way into his mouth and cracked his head on the underside of the coffee table in his attempt to get away. "Fuck!" Tears formed behind his eyelids as pain unlike that of anything he'd felt bloomed across his skull. He groaned and clasped his temples. 

"John!" Sherlock sat up and placed his larger hands over John's smaller ones. "Are you all right?"  

He blinked his eyes open slowly. Sherlock looked down at him, aquamarine eyes radiant in the morning light that came through the window, and John thought Sherlock had never looked more beautiful. 

"I'm going to throw up." He jumped up and ran for the loo. He barely made it to the toilet before he was regurgitating last night's gallon of liquid fun and, now that he thought about it, other things. If he thought the taste he'd woken with was bad, it was nothing compared to that plus vomit. "Ugh," he groaned to the porcelain, thankful that he'd cleaned it not two days ago.

"John?" Came Sherlock's voice, uncharacteristically hesitant.  

He slammed his eyes shut and whinged, "Leave me to die." 

"All right," Sherlock responded. 

John snorted, which caused another round of retching, this time less substance, more stomach acid. "Lovely," he snarled at the water. 

Once finished he took stock of his situation. It wasn't the first time he'd woken up to the taste of whiskey and semen. Getting pissed and shagging a random bloke was a favourite past time in his younger days. But this wasn't a random bloke. This was _Sherlock_. He winced, remembering more and more from the last twelve hours. He'd said he'd never..."Oh, Christ." _He was a virgin, you fucking lecherous twat!_ He put a hand to his forehead and traced even further back, trying to pin point what the hell had happened, where it had started, why. He remembered Sherlock pinning him to the wall, running his nose along his neck, into his hair. Shivers wracked over John, almost to the point of pain on his sensitive, hung over skin. Yes, that's where it had started. _He'd_ started it. Sherlock was the one who had kissed John first. But why? What the hell had set him off?

He pushed himself off the floor with a grimace, avoiding his reflection in the mirror like one would a Gorgon, as he bent to rinse his mouth out in the sink. When that didn't get it he reached for the bottle of mint mouth rinse. 

"Convenient," he noted comically when he went to unzip his trousers to piss and found they were still hanging open from last night's adventure. He took a swig of the blue stuff, swished as he emptied his bladder, and spit when he was finished. The cocktail of fluids floating in the bowl should have been labeled hazardous, and he quickly flushed it down. He turned for the door, fingertips just grazed the doorknob, but stopped in hesitatation. Was he ready to confront what they had done?

"You're no coward, John Watson. You've got to deal with it some time."

Confrontation found Sherlock sitting on the couch, blue house coat back around him, but, going by the state of his bare legs and chest, nothing on underneath. John swallowed but there wasn't much saliva to be found. The detective looked up as John walked slowly into the room. He looked him over, licking every crevice, cleaning out every hiding spot John could hope to have, while giving nothing away of his own thoughts. Anger made it's way into John's bloodstream, blasting away the guilt and confusion of moments before, and he embraced it. How dare he feel ashamed of what they'd done when Sherlock had instigated it. John had just wanted to come home and go straight to bed last night. His hand clenched at his side and he looked away. 

"I'll make tea," he stated, but it clearly came out, 'I hope you choke on it.' He turned for the kitchen. 

"Yes, John, do. By all means. Everyone knows tea is perfect for removing those pesky left over deposits of sperm."

He stopped dead in his tracks. "Don't," he warned, his back to the sitting room.

"I'm going to the shop and I'm going to buy three packs of cigarettes and sit here and smoke every single one. One right after the other," he spit.

John let out a huff, morbidly amused at Sherlock's childish behavior. "You really need attention that badly?" He continued to the kitchen and went about preparing for tea, regardless if he had any plans to actually drink it. It was soothing. Or, that's what he told himself as he sharply set down the kettle. 

"Is this how you treat all your girlfriends, John, the morning after? I'm not surprised you can't keep them for long."

John slammed his fist, knuckle down, on the kitchen table. A second later he marched to the doorway and pointed at Sherlock. "You! You're why I can't keep a girlfriend! You and your big mouth. You ruin every attempt I make."

He seemed to ignore that as he crossed his arms and leaned back into the couch. "I should thank you really. I always thought this was a pointless endeavor, you've helped prove me right."

John saw red. "Is that what that was last night? A fucking experiment?" He growled. 

He didn't answer right away. "You could say that."

John felt the air leave his chest. It sounded like a laugh but it felt like being kicked in the sternum by a horse. "Right." He looked around for his coat. "Right, well, that's it then."

Sherlock stood as soon as John made to leave. "Oh, what do you care?" He cried out. "You knew the score as soon as you started. I'm the one who should be upset. You're opinion of the matter is quite archaic, if you ask me. Positively Grecian."

"What are you on about?" He snapped.

"Women are long term, procreation and all that, men are for pleasure. You never meant any of those things you said last night." He crossed his arms again and John felt his breath hitch to see him look so wounded. Was it an act? What was this? He wracked his brain to remember what he had said last night, what Sherlock was referring to specifically. Everything got hazy after the orgasm. He remembered getting sleepy, laying down on the rug next to Sherlock, his body seeking out his warmth as his eyes closed. They had spoken as he had been drifting off. 

"I don't remember," he admitted.

Sherlock snorted. "That's convenient."

He snapped again, "Look, this isn't easy for me either. I didn't expect to get ambushed when I came home last night. If you don't like how this turned out you only have yourself to blame. Maybe you shouldn't experiment with your sexuality with your flatmate when he's been drinking, you ever think of that?"

Sherlock cocked his head. "I wasn't experimenting with my sexuality. Until you started kissing me I didn't know I had one."

The headache behind John's eyes grew worse. "You...you started kissing me first."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

John threw his coat to the floor, and had to really stem the instinct to stomp his foot. "For Christ's sake, are you high?! Right here," he pointed at the wall, "you pinned me down right here and snogged my brains out. I was drunk but I remember it pretty fucking well. _You_ started this."

"I may have stuck my tongue in your mouth first but _you kissed me_ first."

John looked around the flat in wonder. "I'm losing my mind. This is the craziest thing that's ever gone on in the history of the world. What do you think jamming your tongue into someone's mouth means, Sherlock?"

He looked down and back up shyly. "I just wanted to lick the inside of your mouth. The cigarettes..."

John sucked in a breath. "Oh," he whispered stupidly. "Oh." He looked around again, this time in renewed shame for what he had done, how he had responded. _Virgin, remember, John?_

"I'd rather you threw things at me in anger than look at me in pity," Sherlock's voice shook with emotion. He slammed passed John on his way to his bedroom. John's arm shot out, almost on instinct, and stopped him. He wrenched his arm back from John's grip but he followed and stopped him again. "Let go," he snapped.

"No, we need to talk about this. Don't shut me out."

" _Me?_ You're the one who would rather pretend it never happened." It was darker in the hallway but John could still see the light from the window reflecting the glassy shine in his eyes. "You lied to me. You said we were already in a relationship. I believed you. Stupid," he mumbled the last to himself.

John felt hyper aware in that moment; he knew it would be burned into his memory for the rest of his days. The feel of Sherlock's wrist beneath his fingers as he still tried to pull away, how his hand tightened and pulled harder, until Sherlock stumbled into him. How his eyes widened when John went up on his toes and pulled Sherlock's head down so he could reach his lips easier. How Sherlock took a shocked breath before responding. How his lips felt, familiar already but a thousand times better because he was finally clear headed about the affair. How quickly that went out the window when Sherlock backed him into the bedroom, until his knees hit the mattress and they both fell into the bed. 

"You-" Sherlock started to say against his lips.

"Shh. Shut up," he interrupted. "No talking in bed unless it contains the words, yes, more or please."

"Or John?" He asked, looking into his eyes. 

"Fuck yes," he growled and flipped him over to tear at the sash holding his house coat together. 

"How about kiss me? Can I say that?"

"Yes," John said into his mouth as he kissed him again. Sherlock keened when John moved on to start a path from his lips to his throat. How he would love to mark up that pale expanse of skin. He'd have to be satisfied with the light pink flush that he was causing because he didn't know how Sherlock would respond to hickeys, best to have that conversation before hand. 

"Can I tell you this is fantastic? I like this very much."

John smiled against his skin. "Yes, you can tell me about anything I do that you like. I wish you would."

"I liked what you did last night. You could do more of that."

John chuckled into his shoulder. Happiness bloomed thick in his veins. "I'll see what I can do."

Sherlock sat up abruptly. "Or I could do that for you! I'd love to try."

John sucked in a breath. The words alone felt like silken heat on his skin. He could only nod frantically. 

"Really? You'd let me try?"

"Sherlock, at this point, as long as you don't bite the whole thing off, you can't go wrong."

He was immediately rolled over and quickly found himself divested of his clothes.  "I'm a quick study, John. Just tell me what you like too, all right?"

"All right," he breathed as Sherlock ran a reverent hand down his front. Normally being dissected by the detectives gaze left him feeling exposed in a negative way. This was like being praised by the highest powers. He could feel Sherlock memorizing every inch of him, his gaze like a physical weight, and he had to close his eyes to it, if only briefly. They opened when he felt Sherlock's palms over his skin, mapping the plains of his flesh as if it were more important than anything he'd ever done. When his gaze fell over John's, frankly desperate, cock, he thought he mind spend from the sight alone. He'd never make it if Sherlock wrapped those lips around him, he was too keyed up. 

He drifted down slowly and seemed caught between wanting to investigate at leisure and impatient to begin. "I'm not going anywhere. Whatever you want to do is fine."

He looked up and gave John a familiar scowl. "I'm going to do it." As if John doubted for a moment that he would.

"Like I said whatever _Oh!_ " He fell back against the mattress. "Whatever you want," he moaned. Lord have mercy, he was really going for it. "Sherlock, slow down, slow down, slow down. I'll never last at this rate."

He came back up with another scowl. "But the point of this is orgasm."

John had to scrub both hands over his face, collect his thoughts before he could answer. "It is and it isn't."

"Explain," he commanded, scowl still in place, but languidly continued to stroke a hand up and down his prick. 

He took an unsteady breath. "I want it to last so we can enjoy how good it feels together, for longer. Understand? If you get me off too quickly, it's done. At least until I get hard again, and, let's face it, I'm not a teenager anymore."

A cursory swipe of his tongue. "What does that have to do with anything?" Another lick. 

John panted. "I can't concentrate on sex ed when you do that."

"Make up your mind, John. Either this," he rolled his tongue around the end, "or you teach me the things I need to know."

John growled. "How about I show you instead?" He reached down and hauled Sherlock up until he lay flat out on top. "For once I'm going to enjoy knowing more than you about something." He kissed Sherlock, hard, demanding entrance into his mouth, which he received, and quickly took advantage of. While he was distracted with that, John shifted them until their lengths aligned perfectly. Sherlock gasped into his mouth, pulled back to pant into his neck. John pulled him in closer, started a rhythm, and Sherlock's hot breath picked up speed.

"John," he groaned in that deep voice. "I like this a lot."

"Me too." He buried a hand into Sherlock's curls.

"We should have been doing this the whole time." He laid a kiss on John's shoulder.

"I would have but somebody was married to their work." He received a bite for that comment. He laughed and then asked, "You want it to feel better?" 

"Better?" Sherlock scoffed.

"Take that enormous hand of yours and wrap it around both of us," he instructed.

Sherlock reared back. "Oh! You're brilliant, John." He scrambled to oblige while John laughed.

"Just so you know, I'd like to take credit for these moves but I didn't actually invent any of them."

"Obviously not but," that thought was cut off as soon as he got a hand around them. His head fell back into the pillow with a groan and they didn't talk at all after that. John's legs fell open and he thrust into and against Sherlock with abandon. In the back of his mind he was already planning the next encounter, he'd have to run up to his room for the bottle of lube in his side table, but it would be worth it. Thinking about it had his hands drifting down Sherlock's back until he had two handfuls of his perfect arse. His fingers dug into the flesh, driving Sherlock harder against him. He couldn't help himself, even though he knew the man was inexperienced, he still skimmed a finger between lightly between his cheeks. The result was immediate. 

He could feel Sherlock swell against him and then, "John," he cried out. As soon as he felt that hot, pulsing rush coat over him, his own orgasm was triggered. He gripped Sherlock hard and rode it out in waves. 

 "John," he eventually whispered against John's thrumming pulse.

"Yeah?" He skimmed his fingers up his back to settle back into his hair. 

"I want to do everything."

"No you don't," he laughed. 

"Yes, I do. How will I know what I like and what I don't if we don't try everything?"

"I should have known you would want to explore." He squeezed him tight so he knew it was a good thing.

"Of course. I've never been sexually attracted to anyone else before. You know my methods, John. I need to understand."

He stroked his hair with a heavier hand. "Hush. No more talking in bed, remember?"

"Only when you say apparently." He quieted and shuffled in closer though. "John?" He whispered.

"Yes?"

"Can I say I liked the oral, both giving and receiving, but I think I like this better."

"Yes, you can tell me that," he said with a smile.

"John?"

"Yes?"

"Can I tell you I want to do this exclusively? If we're in a relationship now, that is." He tucked his face further between John's shoulder and the pillow.

John felt his heart expand. "Yes," he whispered. "Can I tell you I think I'm completely in love with you?"

He felt Sherlock's intake of breath. His curls tickled John's face as he nodded frantically. His arms wrapped fully around John's torso and he squeezed hard. "I'm going to quit smoking," he whispered back. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm tired of apologizing for the angst. It's a problem, it happens, I'm dealing with it.  
> Also, write drunk, edit...drunk.  
> So there is that.  
> Normally I'd pimp my Tumblr here but it seems like a bad idea. Go check out one of my other non-drunk stories if you wanna find the link. (tricked you into reading my other stuff. HA!)


End file.
